


Watching the Rain become the Sea

by ieroses



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Canon, Drugs, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Violence, Mysterious Prompto, Spoilers, as in they're present but not really relevant, he just needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-22 14:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9611402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ieroses/pseuds/ieroses
Summary: There’s a boy made of storms and puffy coats and clouds.Noctis decides he likes the rain.





	1. Rain Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed rainy promptis kisses and somewhere along the way it became this monster idk it's just a bit of fun because we need that relief

Noctis notices him the first time because he’s the only one stupid enough to be out on the street in weather like this. The prince, with his head pressed against the cool glass of the car’s window, pays the boy close attention. It’s better than thinking about the college he is racing towards at a rate faster than he thinks he is quite ready for.

 

The figure wears this huge black puffer jacket, almost drowns in it. Between the gap of the coat’s collar and hood, dragged down over most of the face, Noctis can barely make out the points of two eyes staring into the distance.

 

Or well, not the distance. Just the light on the opposite side of the road, which, far too early for the prince to be quite comfortable with, turns green. And then puffer jacket boy is off, stride quick and sure, oblivious to the downpour of the skies.

 

*-*

 

The storm is almost constant, the longest Insomina has seen for decades. Flooding takes charge of the lower districts, the farms on the city’s borders are washed out.

 

At no point does puffer jacket boy think to start using the subway.

 

Their schedules must align, wherever the stranger is going, because every morning on Noctis’ way to class, he sees the boy. Not always at the crossing; sometimes the boy is running late, sometimes he is further up the street, just turning into a side alley. Noctis would be lying if he said he didn’t look out for him, look forward to the sight, if you will. It was a small bit of unfamiliar in a life otherwise so firmly structured.

 

It is odd, the way puffer jacket boy walks. Or maybe that is just Noctis’ opinion, as one usually so sullen and, yes, even he would admit, lazy. But puffer jacket boy, despite the rain, walks with a bounce in his step, an eager bob to his being as though he welcomes the lashings of the rain.

 

On the days where Noctis sees him by the crossing, he gets to really, really look. The boy doesn’t even blink away the drops falling into his eyes. There is something bright in them, a faultlessly optimistic tilt.

 

Noctis is extremely thankful for the black out windows. No one need know just how much he studies the boy, finger pressed to the glass, leaning forward in his seat. He’s the first to admit it's creepy.

 

This time, they drive off first.

 

*-*

 

Leaving behind nothing but puddles and some serious questioning of Insomnia’s drainage system, the storm passes.

 

Noctis’ father and the council are relieved, pleased. Noctis is not.

 

The streets fill out once again, coats shed in an attempt to absorb what little is left of the late September warmth. In the haystack that crowds the streets through which Ignis drives the royal car, Noctis loses his puffer jacket clad needle.

 

*-*

 

Noctis keeps looking.

 

He watches for that distinctive gait, the nervous tick of a hand wrapped around a wrist, almost obsessively, the bounce that takes life on relentlessly (Noctis admits he might be reading into the whole thing a little more poetically than necessary. He admits it, accepts it, and continues to do so without hesitation).

 

Every now and then something familiar will catch him. His heart rate will increase, he’ll lean forward, eyes pressed through the glass. But something will be off, the height, the build, the eyes. His puffer jacket boy was very distinctive; it is not hard to tell who doesn’t fit the bill.

 

Then, miracle of miracles, it rains again.

 

Just a light shower, nothing compared to the storm of a few weeks prior, but the crowds are thinned, and once again people have donned their coats. Noctis wonders what it says about the interest he holds in the rest of his life when he opens the curtains that morning, sees the rain, and immediately thinks _there’s a chance_.

 

His eyes scan the street the whole drive – pointlessly, for the first half, his logical brain adds, not that the rest of him is listening – and then, there it is. The oh so familiar puffer jacket.

 

But this time, it is oh so much better, because, stood where he is at the front of the road crossing, Noctis can _see_.

 

In the light drizzle, Noctis’ rain boy has decided not to don the hood. Instead, a pair of large headphones presses his blonde hair down, as the damp slicks his fringe against his forehead. His coat hangs open, showing off a loose hanging grey top, threaded with string at the v-neck. Noctis can see where spots of water have transformed the fabric into darker colours.

 

The boy’s whole body bobs in time to what Noctis assumes to be the music, mindless of the weather, the road, or anything beyond his little world and the red cactuar on the opposite side. His hands slip out of the coat pockets, dragging a clunky phone with them. He fiddles with the screen before sliding his hands, phone and all, back into their pockets.

 

The roads are busier this morning after an accident on one of the main streets and traffic in the usually quiet area is at a standstill. Noctis watches as the boy pays attention to the road, looking this way and that, before jogging around the back of Noctis’ car and through a gap between cars on the other side of the road.

 

Without realising, Noctis twists himself around so as to watch the entire movement, eyes trailing through the back window and then over to the other side.

 

Once the boy has melted away Noctis notices Ignis eyeing him in the rearview mirror, amusement playing at his eyebrows.

 

‘Oh, shut up,’ Noctis mutters, sinking back down into his chair.

 

*-*

 

It’s easier to find him in the sunshine, now that Noctis knows what he looks like.

 

He’s not around as often as Noctis would like. Or rather, Noctis can’t find him. Crowds can be thick in this area of the city, but occasionally, the blond is found, bouncing his way through the throngs of people, headphones in place, hands tucked into the pockets of combat trousers or puffer jacket, weather respective.

 

Noctis knows it’s all a bit weird, but the days where he sees his rain boy are just a bit brighter than those where he doesn’t, regardless of how many clouds are in the sky.

 

*-*

 

Then one day, nearing the end of October, the skies are almost black, and Noctis has his brightest day of the year so far.

 

The downpour is torrential, the sounds of the city punctuated often with the crash of thunder and spikes of lightning fragmented in the glass windows of the city’s skyscrapers.

 

When the car comes to a stop at the lights of the crossroads, Noctis’ rain boy is there, but he is not bobbing. If anything, he is doing the opposite, something worse than stillness. His eyes are downcast, water dribbling in streams over the ledge of his hood and into the collar of his coat. He lets it happen, as usual, but as though resigned to his fate rather than uncaring of it.

 

Noctis doesn’t think, just lets his soul’s obsession with the stranger act for him.

 

He feels but ignores Ignis’ eyes on him from the front seat as he slides the window down, rain drenching the inside of the car, puddling in the ridge between the leather of the seat and the fabric of his trousers. On instinct, the stranger’s eyes flicker towards the window, but not expecting to be relevant, his eyes return to the floor.

 

Noctis clears his throat, or tries to, but something in his voice cracks and he has to try again. ‘Excuse me,’ he says, trying, and failing, to sound confident. He sounds concerned, at the very least, but then that part isn’t fake.

 

He has to repeat himself a couple of times, voice almost being drowned by the storm, before rain boy realizes he is being spoken to. He stretches out of the cocoon of his coat and Noctis is treated to the sight of his whole face, mouth quivering in curiosity.

 

Noctis never noticed before, but he has freckles.

 

‘Sorry, what was that?’ The only way Noctis can describe his voice is to say that it just… fits. His voice is bubbling positivity and courage in the face of rainclouds.

 

‘I was asking if you wanted a lift? This weather is horrible. You must be drowning.’

 

The boy smiles and it’s a blessing and a curse all at once, because it’s a gift and suddenly it’s the only sun Noctis cares about (So, maybe, he’s a total romantic).

 

‘Na, I’m fine,’ says the boy, shrugging, ‘I can take a bit of water.’ The light on the other side of the road turns green, not that Noctis notices. But rain boy does. He flashes Noctis another smile and steps out in front of the car, calling back a quick, ‘thanks, though,’ before he’s disappeared into the downpour of the other side of the street, the rain like a fog that consumes him.

 

Noctis is left… well, just left, feeling strangely abandoned. Through the open window he stares at the place where the boy stood, now nothing but the ripples of rain drops as they fall against a film of water on the concrete.

 

Finally Ignis’ voice breaks through his daydream. ‘ – going to close the window? You’re going to ruin the upholstery.’

 

As Noctis presses the button to raise the window, the car glides away from the spot. Despite the less than positive outcome of the question, Noctis spends the day reeling, because rain boy smiled at him, rain boy spoke to him, rain boy _knows that he exists_. It’s almost enough to make his day of classes seem not so bad.

*-*

 

Autumn sets in with a vengeance of cold and ice, but the rains seem to dissolve. There is the occasional flurry of snow, but it is not quite cold enough to set. Instead the streets are populated with grey slush.

 

Noctis maintains his distance from the object of his fascination, not being offered a chance to speak with him again. But his eyes are often caught, his attention constantly searching for the familiar puffy coat.

 

And then the puffy coat is gone. The hair is still there, the headphones and the bob in the step, even if the latter is slightly diminished, more a shiver from the cold than any kind of eagerness for the world. Noctis already knows the boy must have serious idiocy issues where weather is concerned, but this is something else.

 

Noctis has Ignis pull over at the side of the road just up from where the boy walks. By the time Noctis has his window rolled down, rain boy is just passing.

 

‘Are you an idiot? Or do you just have a death wish?’ The air through the window hits Noctis hard, and his voice is already shaking from the cold by the end of his question.

 

Rain boy is caught by surprise, staggers to a stop and spins towards Noctis. He wears a fraying long-sleeved t-shirt and a denim waist jacket scattered with patches, hands shoved inside the pockets of black jeans. He looks, in short, freezing.

 

‘Why aren’t you wearing a coat?’

 

Rain boy stands gaping, mouth opening but no words making their way out. Finally, he slides the headphones down to sit around his neck.

 

‘At least a hat? Something?’ It occurs to Noctis just how much he sounds like Ignis, and he clamps his mouth shut. ‘Get in,’ Noctis orders, throwing the car door open and sliding over on the seat.

 

Rain boy finds his voice. ‘I – I can’t. I mean, thank you, but I’m almost there. It’s just up the road, round the c-corner and this is s-so nice and everything, and t-thank you, but I’m f-fine. R-Really.’

 

The chattering of his teeth says very differently, but he is already closing the car door, still on the other side of it. Noctis frowns, feels the familiar annoyance churning in his stomach of when he doesn’t get his way. But this boy is not Ignis, is not Gladio, is not Noctis’ to order around or snap at.

 

‘At least take this,’ Noctis says, picking up his coat and handing it out the still open window. Rain boy stares at it in wonder, as though the coat itself were magic, but makes no move to take it. Noctis shakes the thick bundle, urging the other boy forward.

 

‘I couldn’t possibly…’

 

‘Sure you can. We pass each other everyday. Just, knock on my window and give it back, once you have a new coat of your own.’

 

Noctis can see the reluctance that remains, the awkward set of the shoulders, the way he slightly turns in on himself, but he is also so cold, and saying no to warmth must be so difficult. He steps forwards and with both hands takes the bundle of dark wool, smiling at Noctis as he does so. It is something smaller than before, but something more genuine, subtle, and it makes Noctis glow.

 

From the front seat the stilted voice of Ignis interrupts their moment. ‘Highness, apologies, but if we don’t hurry we are going to be late.’

 

Noctis ignores the voice, watching instead as rain boy’s eyes flicker towards the disembodied voice. He knows it is naïve to hope the stranger doesn’t know who he is, but now any such hopes have been ruined. And yet, nothing changes.

 

Rain boy nods, as though in agreement, and steps away from the car. Just as Ignis is putting the car back into drive, rain boy smiles one more time, meeting Noctis’ eyes, and says, softly, ‘thank you.’

 

Noctis decides he is going to start counting those smiles, collecting them, keeping them for a rainy day.

 

He glances back in the rear window, watching as rain boy first stands there, staring at the coat in amazement. Finally, he slides his arms into the fabric and squeezes the flaps closed around him. The last thing Noctis sees as they turn a corner is rain boy pressing his cheek into the collar of Noctis’ coat.

 

*-*

 

The coat drowns him.

 

Not in the same way his puffer jacket did, where his whole being was expanded. Instead, it’s as though rain boy has shrunk down, sleeves too long, absorbing all of his hands except the tips of his fingers. It’s not a terrible fit, so Noctis can’t be that much taller, but there is that little difference between them. The thought brings a strange bubble of warmth to the prince’s chest.

 

They are on a green light as they approach the crossroads, so Ignis doesn’t stop the car, but they glide through at a slow speed as they turn the corner. It gives Noctis just enough time to see rain boy for the first time since their interaction, see him wearing the prince’s coat, and it is _wonderful_.

 

Rain boy spots their car just as they pass him, and he shoots them a small wave, all sleeves and fingertips. Noctis is left on cloud-fucking-nine.

 

*-*

 

Noctis doesn’t get his coat back. He doesn’t mind.

 

*-*

 

It’s almost Christmas, and rain boy is still wearing Noctis’ coat. Every time he sees – which is less often than Noctis would really like – it makes the prince’s day. In return for his generosity, Noctis receives a regular supply of timid little waves and smiles through the dimmed screen of his window.

 

One day, when Ignis pulls to a stop at the crossing, rain boy has noticed his car first. He walks the short way down the train of waiting cars and knocks on the window. Without hesitation, Noctis rolls it down.

 

‘Uh, um…’ Rain boy seems nervous. Noctis’ insides flutter. ‘I know we haven’t got much time, with you having to, you know, drive off in a second and everything. But, uh, I just wanted to say thank you for the coat and I’m really sorry if you want it back but I couldn’t afford another one and you seemed so mad when I didn’t have one so I just kept it but you can have it back if you want. You probably do want it back, don’t you? I’m really sorry.’ Rain boy starts making moves to undo the buttons of the coat.

 

Noctis’ hand jumps out of the window and grabs rain boy’s arm to stop him. The contact, it’s incredible, it’s magical, it’s… been going on too long on Noctis’ part to be anything but weird. Not that rain boy seems to mind. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

 

Rain boy smiles again, the soft smile, and Noctis mentally adds it to the collection.

 

‘Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you, and um…’ Out of his pocket, rain boy pulls a small package, wrapped in glittering silver paper and a small bow. ‘Merry Christmas.’

 

Noctis is sort of… numb as he is handed the present. Dumb struck. Can’t take his eyes off the object. He is so blindsided that he must miss rain boy saying goodbye, because next thing he knows they are driving away from the crossing, world outside a blur as a cold draft blows through the still open window.

 

In a daze, Noctis slides the window back up and holds the present in his hands. His fingers shake as he takes special care to unwrap the object, untying the bow, not ripping the paper. The object inside is in another cardboard box, this battered at the edges. Noctis opens the lid and a small slip of card flutters onto his lap. The prince picks it up and reads the note, scrawled in a messy, twirling hand:

 

_Who needs warmth when you can be covered in chocobos instead?_

_Merry Christmas, Prompto xo_

Noctis is confused by the note, until he picks up the object inside. Kept in a small drawstring bag, rain boy – _Prompto_ – has gifted the prince a thin rain mac, covered in mini chocobo prints. In any other situation Noctis would have a number of ways to describe such an item of clothing (Garish? Horrid? A crime against eyesight itself?), but it is from _Prompto_ , which means it is perfect.

 

*-*


	2. Prompto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so now that people seem to be actually reading this thing I feel a need to apologise for any mistakes with grammar, spelling, etc... i mean, i got my flatmate to look over it for me but she just spent the whole time grinning and repeating 'this is /so/ cute' thus i'm really not sure how much help it was

For most students, the holiday period means rest, a relax from the stress of classes, the occasional acknowledgment that they should be revising for exams even if, in all likelihood, they probably aren’t.

 

For Noctis, the holidays mean catching up on all those princely duties neglected in the face of attempting to earn a degree. It’s only fair, he supposes. It was, after all, part of the deal with his father. No royal before him has ever attempted to gain an official qualification, it being too difficult to juggle so many responsibilities.

 

Noctis doesn’t regret his decision, liking having that small part of his life where he isn’t just a prince, but he likes to moan about the workload all the same.

 

In his busyness, he doesn’t get to think much about rain boy. _Prompto_.

 

But there are moments, when he’s eating dinner at a banquet, presenting a speech, training with Gladio, where he wonders: _what is Prompto doing right now?_

 

He likes to think that at least he’s wearing Noct’s coat, that little bit of the prince with him wherever he goes.

 

*-*

 

Noctis dreads going back to class, back to where he is stared at during every moment, where the teachers are a little too worried to call him out on being wrong, where he is alone, without Gladio or Ignis at his back.

 

On the morning of his return to class, he wakes up to find it is raining. His excitement is palpable.

 

Just as their car pulls up beside the crossing, Noctis spots his own coat, and inside of it, Prompto. Noctis watches Prompto notice the car, the turn of his head betraying his registration of Noctis’ appearance. Rather than smile or wave, Prompto jerks his gaze back to the floor and stares at it firmly.

 

Noctis shifts in his seat, an uncomfortable hunch settling in his gut.

 

He spends most of their time at the stop staring, willing Prompto to look over, desiring nothing but a glance. He feels the rumbling of the car as Ignis prepares to pull away, and it is at that moment Prompto makes the mistake of looking towards the prince’s window.

 

Before he can consider his actions, Noctis is throwing open the door and stepping out of the car. The rain is biting cold, the crowd of commuters thrown into a surprised and intrigued silence at the appearance of a prince in their midst. Ignis is yelling from inside the car. Noctis ignores it all.

 

Somewhere along the way, Noctis lifts his hand toward Prompto’s face, thumb and forefinger at the boy’s chin, stroking his cut lip. Prompto doesn’t appear to be breathing, but meets Noctis’ eyes all the same, fearless and apparently now unconcerned with his black eye, the scratches and bruises on his fair skin.

 

Noctis returns to himself, drops his hand back to his side, takes a step back, only then realising he had moved right up to the other, pressing himself almost flush to the other’s chest. Ignis, unable to hold up the traffic, has driven on. Noctis knows he will return soon, and will have an earful for the prince to hear. Right now, not important.

 

The light for crossing turns green. The crowd, if reluctantly, makes to cross, parting around the stationary rock of Noctis and Prompto. The blond slides his headphones down to his neck.

 

‘What happened?’ asks Noctis, and it’s amazing Prompto can hear the whisper.

 

Prompto smiles, or tries to, wincing when it pulls at the cut, and so shrugs instead. ‘Collateral damage.’

 

Noctis stands in silence for a moment, until, ‘What?’

 

‘No need to worry, Prince Noctis – ’

 

‘Noctis. Please. Just Noctis.’

 

‘Noctis.’

 

Ignis pulls up to the side of the road, just before the lights so as not the block the lanes, and honks the horn. Noctis glances towards the car, but knows he has already made his decision. He steps up to Prompto’s side, shoulder to shoulder, facing the road.

 

Noctis can hear the confusion in the other’s voice, can imagine the way his eyebrows crease in the middle. ‘What are you doing?’

 

‘I’m guessing that if I ask you to ride with me again, you’re just going to say no.’

 

In the corner of his eye, Noctis sees Prompto give a stiff, reluctant nod.

 

‘In which case, I am going to walk with you instead.’

 

Prompto glances around, eyeing the weather and the way it is already dampening the prince’s spikey hair. ‘But you haven’t got a coat.’

 

Noctis’ mouth quakes with a restrained chuckle. ‘Wait here.’ He walks over to the car, leans into the back seat. When he emerges, he is pulling on a rain mac, one covered in chocobos. Against the prince’s naturally falling sullen expression, the coat looks even more ridiculous than expected. Prompto bursts out in a bark of laughter.

 

When Noctis returns to his side, Prompto is still grinning, damn his lip’s injury. ‘Great, so now you’re dry. Aren’t you still going to be cold?’

 

The crossing light turns green. Noctis bumps his shoulder against Prompto’s and mutters, ‘worth it’, before walking into the road. Prompto follows.

 

*-*

 

Prompto doesn’t let Noctis walk far with him, only to where he usually swerves off into an alley. He argues that it is pointless to make Noctis have to go back on himself, which Noctis understands, even if the disappointment is crushing. Every time he glances at Prompto’s injuries he feels like he’s failed the boy somehow. Which is stupid, they barely know one another, but there it is, sitting in his gut.

 

Most of the walk is taken in silence, but there’s a rhythm between them, the occasional shared glance. For all the things working against them, for all Noctis’ shivering – because, yeah, _fuck_ it’s cold – and Prompto’s obvious limp, there’s something about being side by side that feels _right_. Despite the silence, there is no pressing need to fill it. As nervous as Noctis feels, he doesn’t feel like he should stop looking at Prompto when he _wants_ to.

 

Noctis doesn’t ask again what has happened, as much as he is burning with a desire, a rage, to know. They are, after all, just strangers. Noctis has no right to demand an answer. He also has a suspicion that if he were to push, it would be the one thing to make Prompto lock up against him, and that is the last thing Noctis wants.

 

So they just walk, together, under the blanket of the rain.

 

*-*

 

When Noctis gets back in the car, Ignis only has one thing to say: ‘You are going to catch your death in weather like that.’

 

Noctis repeats himself: ‘Worth it.’

 

*-*

 

The next day the rain has lifted, and the world seems to be aligning with the very intention of giving Noctis a great day. Just as the car emerges onto the road, Noctis spots Prompto on the path. Ignis doesn’t even pretend to be surprised when Noctis orders the car to pull over on the side of the road.

 

Noctis came prepared with a thicker coat this time, and, in all honesty, is not that grief stricken about leaving the chocobo mac balled up inside his bag. When Noctis steps out of the car Prompto is already a few steps ahead, a bit of a bounce returning to his gait even if the remnants of the limp cling to him.

 

Smiling to himself, Noctis quickens his pace and slaps a hand on Prompto’s back as he arrives next to the other boy. The ever-growing familiar expression of joyful surprise turns towards him, already removing the headphones.

 

‘Hey,’ says Noctis.

 

‘Hey!’

 

And this time, they talk.

 

They talk and talk and _talk_. Noctis has never been much of a talker, but with Prompto, apparently this isn’t a problem. The boy, excited, a personality as bubbly as his step, can talk for Lucis, in the best way. Noctis is entertained, overjoyed, captivated.

 

When they reach the alleyway, Prompto pauses, the silence suddenly awkward. Noctis stops too. Ignis is already waiting with the car idle by the curb.

 

Just as Noctis is opening his mouth to finally say goodbye, to fill the silence if nothing else, Prompto squeaks, ‘so maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?’ What was designed to come across as very casual falls flat and instead betrays something hopeful, almost saddeningly so, inside the voice.

 

Noctis feels his mouth twitch up into a smile. ‘Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

 

When the prince climbs back into the car, Ignis catches his eye in the rearview mirror. ‘Is this to become a regular thing, Noct?’

 

Noctis pauses, considers the question. ‘Yeah, I think so.’

 

‘It is dangerous to walk the streets without a guard.’

 

‘I have you, don’t I?’

 

Ignis stays silent.

 

*-*

 

The next day, when Noctis slides into the car, Gladio is sat beside Ignis in the front, looking far too awake for the hour of morning.

 

‘So this is your solution?’

 

It is Gladio who answers. ‘It’s this, or you stay in the car, _Highness_.’

 

Noctis sinks into his seat, temper frayed by the feeling of surveillance that seems to pervade every aspect of his life. But this all dissolves, because this time, Prompto is _waiting_ for him.

 

The blond says nothing when the mountain of a man gets out of the car beside Noctis. The two share a nod, each wary of the other.

 

Noctis makes an active effort to work through the air of _holy shit I keep forgetting he’s royalty how could I forget_ that he can feel emanating from the blond, saying with a forced grin, ‘Hey, Prom.’

 

The nickname was an accident, a slip of the tongue, but it triggers something in the other that breaks through the wall of Gladio’s presence. ‘Hey, Noct!’

 

‘This is Gladio. Don’t worry, he’s a friend. Although he’ll break your face again if you try and push me in the road.’

 

Prompto’s expression falls and he looks genuinely worried for a second, until Gladio laughs. ‘Nah, looks like the kid’s had it bad enough. Frankly, at this point, I’d pay him to get rid of you for me. You ain’t half difficult, highness.’

 

This time it is Noctis’ turn to frown, but then Prompto laughs, and it’s sunshine all over again. Just like that, they begin to walk as a trio. Gladio remains on the edges, a silent but comfortable presence allowing Noctis to just bask in the Prompto-ness of the boy beside him.

 

*-*

 

Some days it’s the three of them having some argument about something stupid, or Gladio telling Prompto some embarrassing story of Noctis in training.

 

Some days Gladio hangs back, wandering separately, leaving Noctis and Prompto to their conversations. Noctis loves Gladio like a brother, but these days are his favourites.

 

But every day, without fail, rain or sunshine, it is Noctis and Prompto, just for that short five-minute walk. It becomes the highlight of Noctis’ day.

 

*-*

 

Prompto is such a good talker, fooling the prince with his appearance of awkwardness, so Noctis doesn’t realise how little he actually knows about the boy.

 

‘So where are you off to every morning, anyway?’

 

Prompto shifts the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, ‘Just to work.’

 

‘Where do you work?’

 

‘A pharmacy in the lower district. Pays well, so, y’know. Worth it. The walk, I mean.’

 

‘Are you sure that’s the best place to work? It’s meant to be a little dodgy. Father has been looking into plans for a regeneration of the area. Maybe rebuilding some of the apartment blocks, encouraging bigger business to move in. You okay?’

 

At some point during Noctis’ rambling, Prompto began to look a little nervous, eyebrows scrunching in concern, smile dropping into a frown. ‘What? Yeah, fine!’ He smiles, but it doesn’t hold its usual warmth. ‘That sounds like a great idea, Noct.’

 

Noctis, in an attempt to save what little of their walk is left, bumps his shoulder against that of his friend. The movement makes their hands brush, and suddenly, as though desperate, Prompto grabs for Noctis’ hand. The prince looks over, but Prompto is staring resolutely forward. Without looking away, Noctis entwines their fingers together. Prompto still doesn’t turn, but Noctis sees the subtle smile – Noctis’ favourite – grow on the corner of his lips.

 

Gladio says nothing when they return to the car, but the prince can feel his shield’s eyes on him all the same.

 

*-*

 

They touch. It’s… something else entirely to what Noctis is used to.

 

They brush arms, playfully shove one another, throw arms haphazardly over each other’s shoulders. They hold hands in the sun that seems to always be shining these days.

 

Like that, time passes.

 

*-*

 

Here is a small selection of important things Noctis learns about his new, perhaps only, true friend (given that Gladio and Ignis are both paid to put up with him):

 

  * Prompto knows all the words to at least five chocobo based songs. He threatens to sing more. Noctis is doubtless that he could.
  * He loves food, but is crazily paranoid about his diet. Noctis learns a list of foods that are just too good for Prompto to resist. It is a long list. Noctis brings things regularly (generously cooked by Ignis). He likes to spoil the boy, and after all, he’s already… _too_ thin, in Noctis’ opinion.
  * He’s a photographer. Noctis is surprised to be unsurprised by this. Prompto shows him some of his stuff, revealing the camera he keeps tucked away in his bag. One day, Prompto takes a picture of the prince. Noctis lets him. Noctis keeps letting him, day after day.
  * Prompto is an orphan. Prompto, like Noctis, is alone much of the time, too.



 

Here is a list of things that Noctis doesn’t know, that he wants to know but for some reason, he isn’t allowed:

 

  * Why Prompto was beaten up that one day. Why it keeps happening, even if it is never to the same extent.
  * Why he never seems to have any money, despite working full time. And why he pretends that this isn’t an issue, despite its obviousness. Noctis would never call him out on it, of course. But he cares for the boy, and only wants to help.
  * Where Prompto lives.



 

*-*

 

It’s still late winter, but the warmer weather has started moving in, promising the coming spring, and with it comes the rain.

 

The two are walking together, side by side, and Noctis says, ‘You know, we could always just get in the car. It’s dryer. And warmer.’

 

Prompto seems to… close. There is no other way to describe it. He pulls away from Noctis, muscle bunching inside the bulk of Noctis’ now well-worn coat.

 

Noctis is tired from the evaded questions, the constant mysteries. He stops in the middle of the path. The crowd around him bunches before walking around the figure, grumbling as they shoot glares, perhaps oblivious to the prince’s station. Prompto walks on a few steps before stopping and turning to meet his friend’s stare. Somewhere in the background, Gladio drifts to the side of the path, reading the situation well enough to know that they need space.

 

Prompto lifts one shoulder, attempting a jokey tone that falls flat. ‘I was always taught never to get into a car with a stranger.’

 

‘Am I still a stranger?’

 

‘To the people who taught me that, yeah.’

 

Noctis is thrown by the sudden honesty. ‘And how would they know?’

 

‘They would know.’

 

Left with more questions than he expects, Noctis doesn’t know where to start. When Prompto sees his confusion, a withering smile flickers on his face. He walks forward until he is so close to Noctis he is forced to bend his neck back to meet the other’s eye. They haven’t been this close since the first day, when Noctis rested his thumb on Prompto’s broken lip.

 

Prompto reaches up on tiptoe and presses a soft kiss to the prince’s cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Noct.’

 

And with that, Prompto pulls the flaps of his coat closer around himself, head bent against the rain, and walks away from Noctis, washing away into the crowd. By the time it occurs to Noctis to rush after him, the blond is lost.

 

*-*

 

It is a full week before Prompto is seen waiting on the street corner for his prince once again. Noctis hasn’t even started to give up hope – he knew Prompto would come back to him. That doesn’t mean he’s not pissed though.

 

What was last week only a drizzle has returned with a vengeance, the force of the downpour reminding Noctis of that day so long ago when he first noticed this other boy. Prompto waits against the wall of a building, slightly protected from the downpour. Noctis jumps out of the car while Gladio waits in the passenger seat. He is distantly aware that he should at least put his hood up, but the thought is forgotten as quickly as it comes.

 

‘You ran,’ he says, in lieu of hello.

 

Prompto nods, chuckling a little darkly, ‘Yeah. It’s, kinda, what I do best.’

 

‘Why?’

 

Still leaning against the wall, Prompto stares down at the floor, one hand fiddling with a clothed wrist, a habit Noctis has been paying more and more attention to recently. ‘Do you really need to know?’

 

‘I’m your friend, aren’t I? Don’t I have some kind of… right to know? That came out wrong. I just mean… I want to help, Prompto.’

 

Prompto worries his bottom lip, but shows no signs of letting forth an answer. In frustration, Noctis huffs and turns, beginning to stride down the street. He knows Prompto will follow. After all, if Noctis really wanted to leave his friend he’d just get back in the car.

 

Soon enough, Prompto falls into step beside him. ‘Your hair’s all wet.’

 

Noctis grunts, glaring down at the floor. Prompto grabs at his sleeve, yanking him to a stop, spinning him around so they face each other. Noctis’ gaze finds itself glaring at the gap of skin leading down to Prompto’s collar bone, still dry under the coat hood.

 

Prompto, movements hesitant, nervous, lifts a hand and pushes it through the strands of Noctis’ hair, attempting to restyle it but to no avail. His mouth quirks as his hand drops. ‘A guy can try.’

 

Noctis’ gaze flickers across Prompto’s expression, absorbing the blue eyes, the smattering of freckles, the lips slightly swollen from his biting them. _A bad habit to get into_. He pushes Prompto’s hood down but the blond doesn’t react, eyes still trained on Noctis. The rain flattens his hair, the torrent drenching him.

 

Imitating Prompto’s earlier action, Noctis runs his hand through the strands until it rests at the back of Prompto’s neck. Settled there, against the skin, close enough to feel every breath, Noctis feels warm despite the rain, despite the cold wind rushing down the almost empty sidewalk.

 

Prompto seems to be waiting, Noctis can feel it. But he’s stuck, still angry, still searching for answers. Doesn’t quite know how to push this moment forward, doesn’t want to pull away completely.

 

Prompto breaks the spell, breathing out in the softest laugh, ‘just friends, huh?’

 

‘No,’ Noctis murmurs, ‘not just friends.’

 

And finally, _finally_ , Noctis kisses his rain boy. So maybe he doesn’t quite know what he is doing. So maybe he isn’t quite as prepared as he should have been, given he’s been subconsciously fantasizing about this moment for months now.

 

So, maybe, none of that matters.

 

Prompto tastes more like the rain than anything else, and it’s frankly quite refreshing, the water still streaming down their skin as Prompto lifts his arms around Noctis’ shoulders. Suddenly, Noctis only feels real at the points where their bodies are connected: front to front, mouth to mouth, occasional brushing of noses, timid touches of tongue. The clouds are still there, the questions in Noctis’ mind as he comes to realise that he doesn’t quite know _what_ Prompto is, but he knows _who_ Prompto is.

 

Prompto is the boy who waits for him in the rain, who makes his day with five minutes of talk, can lift his whole soul with nothing but a smile. Why should Noctis care what he is outside of _this_ , the two of them pressed together, his hands still wrapped in the other’s hair, lips moving together. It is not as though Prompto knows much about his life at the palace. They are merely two lives, two people, reduced to a world of rain and kisses.

 

They are left with foreheads pressed together. Noctis doesn’t know whether Prompto is staring at him, his own eyes being closed, trying to save this moment, this very sensation of experience.

 

‘I just need…’ Prompto stops and starts, voice quiet, as though the moment were a deer, waiting, watching, to be scared off at the slightest of jolts. Noctis opens his eyes to find Prompto looking terrified, but the boy doesn’t run. ‘I need time, Noct. It’s complicated.’

 

‘Complicated.’ Noctis feels his shoulders drop, tries to remove his hand from its place against Prompto’s neck. The blond’s arm jerks up, wrapping around Noctis’ wrist to keep his hand there.

 

‘I’m trying, Noct. _Please_.’ When Noctis remains unresponsive Prompto pushes up into another kiss, something short and sweet, and despite his frustration’s best efforts to push the rest of him down, Noctis’ heart soars. ‘I’ll figure something out, I promise. But… You’re the prince, Noct. That doesn’t make things easy for me.’

 

And just like that, any height Noctis has found crashes to the ground. He pulls away from Prompto completely, taking a few steps back. Prompto is left looking empty, missing something where he stands on the wet pavement, rain streaming down his face.

 

‘I’m the prince, you tell me. As if I don’t already _know_ that.’ Noctis, suddenly, is almost yelling, and Prompto can’t help but flinch. ‘Why are you saying that now? When have you ever treated me like a prince before? We’re _friends_.’ Prompto stands, mouth agape, speechless, floundering. Something occurs to Noctis, embarrassment tainting his tongue. ‘Did you not want this… me?’

 

Prompto jerks forward, hands grabbing at the front of Noctis’ coat. ‘Of course not. I mean, yes I want this. I’ve thought of nothing else for months. But it’s…’

 

‘Complicated,’ Noctis finishes for him, glaring at the street over Prompto’s head.

 

‘Yeah, complicated.’ Prompto, voice breaking, buries himself in Noctis’ chest. ‘I just need time.’

 

Noctis wraps his arms around Prompto, and the thing that overwhelms him is that he never wants to let go. It’s not as though the whole issue doesn’t present problems of his own. Prompto is right; he’s a prince. What would his father say if he brought a commoner home, one without prospects, without even the promise of an heir? The reality of their situation, of the scale of meaning this feeling in his chest holds, hits Noctis with a staggering weight. Noctis has his own problems to think over, to solve. If time is what it takes, then he can give his rain boy that.

 

*-*

 

Noctis regrets making the promise.

 

When Prompto asks for time, Noctis thinks he means time before he must answer, time for them to carry on as they are, two friends, enjoying one another’s company without the ask of those deepest layers of the self being revealed. He thinks he means time to hold hands, to kiss a little perhaps, to just _be_.

 

Instead, the next day, Prompto isn’t there. Even Galdio and Ignis seem surprised by this development, having been silently supportive the day before, but they keep quiet. After all, one day means nothing. He may just be late.

 

They wait, pulled over at the side of the road. The sun is already drying the damp on the concrete. They wait, but Prompto never comes, and eventually they must leave to avoid Noctis being late for class.

 

The next day they wait again. But again, Prompto doesn’t show.

 

So, the day after, they wait. And the next day. And the next day.

 

And the next day.

 

But Prompto never comes.

 

*-*


	3. Delivery Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter has become something of a plot and information dump but i hope it is still enjoyable if nothing else
> 
> I appreciate all the kind messages and kudos!! It's amazing to think so many people have read and enjoyed my too-long rambling. Thank you for reading xx

*-*

 

Okay, okay, relax. Prompto asked for time. And that’s all this is. Time.

 

This is what Noctis repeats to himself, over and over. Every time they pass their meeting point on the street, every time he lays down to sleep, every time he has a spare moment for his thoughts to stray beyond what lies directly in front of him.

 

But here’s the thing: every time he thinks it, he remembers Prompto’s torn lip, his limp, the countless bruises Noctis has seen time and again. And that’s without ever having seen what lies beneath winter coats.

 

*-*

 

‘You seem distracted,’ his father says one day, when Noctis is at the palace for dinner.

 

‘Long day,’ Noctis lies, smile cracking into a grimace.

 

‘I don’t mean today. I mean generally.’

 

Noctis freezes, fork poised over his plate, glaring at the potatoes as though they have personally offended him. ‘You’ve been speaking to Ignis and Gladio.’

 

‘They are worried about you.’

 

‘What have they told you?’

 

‘Nothing. They thought it not their place. Hence, I am asking you.’

 

Noctis is no longer sure if his concerns are relevant, not like he did closer to the beginning, when the ghost of Prompto’s lips over his could still be felt. But really, what choice does his heart offer him, with this sort of weight on it, a storm that never shows promise of passing. He places his fork on the edge of his plate.

 

‘What would you say if I told you I met someone?’

 

The king pauses, evidently taken aback. His sullen son, usually so anti-social, finally showing promise. Noctis attempts to smother a bitter smile. Regis peculiarly mirrors his son as he places his cutlery down, proceeding to fold his hands before him, elbows resting on the table. ‘I think this is a dangerous thing to ask hypothetically.’

 

‘It may not be as hypothetical as you are hoping. Or perhaps dreading. Hard to say.’

 

‘Perhaps you could tell me a little something about her.’

 

‘He’s a commoner.’ Noctis thinks, yet again, of the route Prompto takes every morning. ‘From the east side, I think. Near the university.’

 

Regis is quiet, staring, considering his son. Finally, he asks, ‘a student?’

 

‘No, not a student.’ Noctis thinks of Prompto shrugging, _a pharmacy_ , and everything he has said since then. ‘I’m not sure what he does.’

 

‘You can’t know very much about him then.’

 

‘I know the important things.’ He attempts to swallow the bitter taste of a lie, but knows Regis must see something in his expression.

 

‘I want you to be happy, Noctis,’ says Regis, turning back to his dinner, ‘you deserve happiness while you can still have it.’

 

*-*

 

When Noctis can’t take the worry anymore, he turns to Ignis.

 

‘I need you to find him.’

 

‘Noct – ’ his advisor starts, but Noctis talks over him.

 

‘Don’t give me excuses. I know it can be done. We are the crown. We know of everyone in the whole of Lucis. He must be on some record. How many Promptos can there be in the city?’

 

Ignis coaxes Noctis towards the chairs in the lounge of his apartment. Despite his restlessness, Noctis collapses into the leather, fidgeting, freezing once he sees Ignis’ expression. From the kitchen counter, Gladio is peculiarly quiet. He already knows what Ignis has to say, then. The two keep glancing at one another, only serving to increase Noctis’ unease.

 

Shifting forward, he asks, ‘what is it?’

 

‘When you told your father about Prompto, he asked us to find out what we could. Just as a precaution, you understand. I will admit my own relief. I have been growing concerned for the boy ever since his mysterious disappearance.’

 

‘But…?’

 

‘As far as our records are concerned… he doesn’t exist.’

 

As with most things about Prompto, Noctis is surprised to be so unsurprised. In the grand scheme of things, it makes sense.

 

‘We’re still searching for signs of him throughout the city, security feeds and such, but officially? There are no birth records at any hospitals for the Prompto with whom we are concerned. No criminal records, pay slips, nothing so much as a school report card. He is practically a ghost.’

 

*-*

 

They find him holed up inside a decrepit apartment block on the lower west side, somewhere with walls already crumbling down, where the foulness leaves nothing but dirty greens and grey. The first thing Noctis thinks when he sees the security footage Ignis has found is that someone so obsessed with beauty should never be surrounded by such darkness.

 

‘He must have only moved there recently,’ Ignis is saying, ‘He’s not on any footage before this weekend. It’s amazing we’ve managed to find this, honestly.’

 

The footage is of the street outside the apartment. Prompto can be seen, head down, walking through the shadows at the edge of the shot. A duffle bag is strapped across his t-shirt clad chest, arms decorated with bracelets. He glances back at the street before slipping inside the building. Another clip, time stamped roughly eight hours later, shows him leaving, sans bag.

 

Noctis’ hands bunch up into fists, the unsettling hunch crawling around in his stomach once again. ‘We have to go to him.’

 

Ignis nods. ‘We’ll have a team go to him and arrange a meeting.’

 

‘A meeting?’

 

Ignis and Gladio exchange a silent conversation. Noctis looks between them, and it is Gladio who answers. ‘It’s probably not best for you to go wandering around on those streets.’

 

‘So you’re gonna what exactly?’

 

Ignis speaks. ‘If he is amicable to a meeting, I am sure he won’t mind returning to your usual place.’

 

‘Amicable to a meeting? He’s been avoiding me, Ignis. If he wanted to talk to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

 

Ignis studies him a moment, glasses reflecting the light streaming through the apartment windows. ‘If you know he has been avoiding you on purpose, why so eager to see him?’

 

‘Because I know there’s a reason, and I just want to understand. Then we can fix all,’ Noctis gestures at the still looping security footage, searching for a word, ‘ _this_. If he knows I’m coming he’ll only run again.’

 

Another glance, another silent conversation between his protectors. Noctis absently wonders when they became so good at that. Gladio huffs, and Noctis can tell he has won. ‘Fact of the matter is, Noct,’ says Gladio, ‘no one there cares about another shifty kid. A prince on the other hand?’

 

‘I’ll take whatever precautions you want. A guard, a disguise, whatever. Just _please_.’

 

Another silence, and finally Ignis, resigned, ‘we better hope your father doesn’t find out about this.’

 

*-*

 

Noctis tucks a stray strand of hair back beneath the cap, making sure to keep his head down. Not that anyone pays him any attention, too focused on shoving their way through the dingy, crowded streets, preoccupied with their own lives.

 

The buildings tower up either side of him, all blackened brick and flickering neon signs, pipes and steam, so unlike the side of Insomnia he is familiar with. If it weren’t for the heavy figure of Gladio pushing a path through in front, Noctis would be lost in seconds. Ignis brings up the rear, while scattered throughout the crowd are a few glaive soldiers, no doubt intrigued by the prince’s personal mission but otherwise clueless.

 

Noctis notices the moment they are nearing the building, familiar with the surroundings having studied the security footage in detail. He can’t help but glance up in the direction of the hidden camera.

 

They station themselves around the street, and wait. Their operation was planned for the evening, expecting to cross paths with Prompto just as he makes his way home. It is a surprise, then, when instead, not thirty minutes after their arrival, Prompto steps out of the building and walks headlong into the crowd.

 

While Noctis is still reeling from another sudden bout of confusion, the rest of his team are already on the move, closing in on the blond. They have not been tailing him long when Prompto stops briefly, head twitching to the side. Noctis’ men keep moving.

 

Prompto breaks out into a run, somehow managing to move seamlessly through the crowd without causing a riot. Noctis’ soldiers are not quite so subtle and begin to shove through after the figure relentlessly, determined only to capture. It occurs to Noctis that he should have at least assured them that Prompto is not the bad guy here.

 

Not that it matters. Within seconds Prompto has slipped down an alley or into another building, either way he is yet again _gone_. With a reaction like that, it is not hard to guess that Prompto isn’t coming back.

 

*-*

 

They ask around, questioning some of the apartment’s ‘tenants’ – if they can be labeled as such, squatting in a building that as it turns out is due to be demolished – or a few of the vendors out on the street.

 

Noctis is unsurprised to find that the boy, even in his short time, made an impression. For all his mysteriousness, he is likeable. A woman, greying despite being only middle-aged, skin drawn and thin, remembers him well. After a small monetary tip, she remembers him even better, recalling the exact place where he stayed. For a _generous_ monetary tip, she is willing to lead them right to the place tucked away at the back of the building.

 

The room inside is dusty, bare. A mattress covered with a fraying blanket in one corner, a gas cooker in another, a rusty sink just about hanging on to the wall. But there are details, echoes of Prompto. A few scattered books and pages, a coat balled up into a pillow, pictures taped to the wall where a headboard should be.

 

Noctis walks over to the mattress and perches on its edge. The fabric of the coat is familiar as he touches it, unwinds it in his hands. When he looks up he is staring at himself. Only there he is smiling, slightly self-conscious in some, brighter in others. It’s him. It’s him. It’s _them_.

 

The prince is vaguely aware of his entourage wandering the small room, shuffling awkwardly around one another. No one makes to comment on the photos, on the way everything is crashing down around Noctis just a little.

 

‘I guess we’re right back to square one then, huh?’ says Gladio, and the thought kills Noctis. It is their fault Prompto has been forced to leave behind these things that were so obviously precious to him, that he took comfort in surrounding himself with.

 

Ignis makes a thoughtful noise. ‘Perhaps not.’

 

When Noctis looks over, Ignis is holding a small piece of card which he turns towards the prince. Noctis leans forward to get a better look at the business card.

 

The bulk of the off-white paper is taken up with the indent of a logo: a single pill, half hollow half filled in. Beneath, in similarly almost transparent colouring, is a phone number. ‘A pharmacy, didn’t he say?’ Ignis is raising an eyebrow at Noctis, a plan forming in their minds together.

 

*-*

 

Noctis has snapped the card out of Ignis’ hand and has his phone out ready before considering the full difficulty of the situation. But he is focused now, eyes tunneled on the prize, because there is something going on here and he is so close to finding out what.

 

Then his phone is pressed to his ear, ringing. Three rings in, the tone stops, however there is nothing but silence on the other end. Noctis waits, holding his breath. When nothing comes, he can’t help himself, ‘Prompto?’

 

The moment hangs, before a voice, silky, cuts through the speaker, ‘Who is this?’

 

Noctis swallows. ‘A friend.’

 

The prince is met with the dial tone.

 

*-*

 

Before they leave, Noctis gathers up the coat and the pictures on the wall. He knows Prompto will want them back when they see each other again.

 

He can feel the anger shaking within him, the frustration threatening to burst him at the seams. Ignis had already taken the business card from him when it looked as though he was about to destroy the clue in his fit of rage. The prince’s entourage lead him from the building, back out onto the street, and through the same path to take them back to the car waiting on the edge of the district. Even if leaving it in such a place was risky, bringing such an expensive car into the heart of such an area was straight up stupid.

 

Gladio and Ignis ride in the back with him as another solider acts as chauffeur. Noctis’ attention is pulled from the window when Ignis slides his own phone out of his jacket pocket and types in the number from the card, but the prince stays silent.

 

Again, the time of the phone ringing is kept short, and the silence punctuates the answering of the other end.

 

‘I was told,’ says Ignis, ‘You would be able to provide me with something for which I am searching.’

 

Noctis can hear the tin voice of someone on the other end, but not well enough to understand what they are saying.

 

‘Collection, if you will.’ Another pause, another reply. ‘Excellent. Do you have a particular location in mind? I do so hope you will be able to keep this transaction… private.’ Pause. ‘I will be there soon.’ Then Ignis ends the call.

 

There is a moment in the car where even Gladio looks a little surprised. Ignis leans forward and murmurs through the car’s divide a new address to the driver.

 

‘You’ve found him?’ asks Noctis.

 

‘I have found a lead,’ says Ignis, shaking his head. ‘It appears Prompto’s presence near the university is no longer such a mystery. I suspect he merely swapped the facts. Works in the upper distract, lives in the lower. You know, at some point before you become king, highness, you are going to have to develop a little more tact. And patience.’

 

*-*

 

It doesn’t look like anywhere special. Definitely not a black market hotspot. It just looks like your standard twenty-four hour convenience store, complete with glaring fluorescent lights overhead and the smattering of advertising posters stuck in the window. Most of them present local events for the university which itself is only a short drive further on.

 

‘Night collection only, they said,’ says Ignis.

 

Gladio and Noctis let the advisor take the lead having left the rest of their small team with the car. Too many people may look suspicious. No one seemed particularly happy to allow the prince to go, but Noctis is having none of their overbearing control. This is his mission. Prompto is his to save.

 

If he needs saving, that is, Noctis guesses.

 

The trio walks up to the counter, prince and shield flanking Ignis’ sides. Rather than speaking, Ignis slides the business card down onto the plastic surface. The cashier’s eyes flicker between the three of them. With slick movements he slides the card off the table and nods for them to follow.

 

The cashier, a ginger boy of no older than seventeen, takes them to a door at the back of the store, flicking the lock open for them and gesturing them inside. ‘You must be new, huh,’ he says, quirking a smirk in their direction. Before the trio answer he is already slouching off back to the front of the store, whistling now.

 

Inside the lights are much dimmer, the walls metal and grey, emphasizing just how small the room is. There is a fire door on the far side of the room, and next to it is a haphazard stack of boxes. A desk at the center of the room holds a lamp, the only source of light in the room. Behind the desk sits a man, hidden by streams of reddish hair and a floppy hat.

 

He lifts his head very slightly, just enough to glimpse the smirk lying there waiting. ‘What an interesting collection of guests I am receiving this evening.’

 

‘We are looking for someone,’ says Ignis, deciding on the direct approach.

 

‘Is that so?’

 

‘Blond,’ Gladio cuts in, ‘about yey high, exhaustively chirpy.’

 

The stranger chuckles. ‘I am truly sorry to say that I do not recognise such a description. But if you leave a contact number, I would certainly be sure to get in touch as soon as I had any information.’

 

Noctis frowns, is about to say something, because they have come this far and it just isn’t possible that there is nothing to be learnt here. Before he so much as opens his mouth Ignis has a hand on his arm, stopping him. ‘That is quite alright,’ Ignis says, ‘we wouldn’t want to trouble you. We shall leave you to your business.’

 

Gladio is pulling Noctis out of the room before Ignis has finished speaking. The prince just catches the glint of teeth, something savage in the stranger’s smile before the door is closed between them once again.

 

‘What are we doing? We can’t just leave!’ Noctis’ friends are distracted as they lead him from the store with a quick pace. He stops, yanking his arm out of Gladio’s grip. ‘What is going on?’

 

‘We are returning to our entourage,’ says Ignis, ‘and then we are going back.’ Noctis’ expression must demand further explanation. ‘The man we just met seems… familiar. I cannot quite place him, but I can feel in my bones that he is dangerous. I fear this whole situation is not quite the coincidence we have chalked it up to be.’ He squeezes the prince’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Noct. We will get Prompto back. Tonight. If we leave it much longer, I worry that there will be little to retrieve.’

 

*-*

 

Keeping to the shadows, the prince’s now expanded team fan out to surround the store, searching for Prompto, or at least any clues that may lead to him. Ignis and Gladio each take a pair of soldiers. Although they leave Noctis in the relative safety of the car, he soon sneaks out to hover at the entrance to the alley alongside the store, determined to play some part in the rescue effort, even if he doesn’t know what yet.

 

Noctis waits, fidgeting, eager to do something, to be helpful in some way. They are now deep into spring, and the weather is warming, even at night. Still, Noctis can think of nothing but the danger Prompto might be in and the thought sends chills through his very bones.

 

His thoughts are jolted into disarray as a fire door further into the alley is thrown open, slamming against the brick wall. A mashed shadow of grunting figures flies out of the doorway and crash into the opposite wall of the alley. Noctis sinks further back against the alley wall, breathing stopped in an effort not to be noticed.

 

And then the light from the street falls on the face of the figure held up against the wall by the neck, and Noctis can’t breathe for a whole different reason. The voice speaking is familiar already, silky, deadly, permanently smirking.

 

‘I told you to keep away from him, _Prompto_. You were making him suspicious.’

 

‘I did.’ Prompto’s voice bursts out in choking breaths, his hands clawing at those wrapped around his throat. ‘I swear. I haven’t seen him for months.’

 

The stranger pushes his face close to Prompto’s, still smiling. ‘I don’t believe you.’ Noctis’ fingers claw at the brick behind him, his whole being flinches, yet he still does nothing but watch as the stranger reels back a fist and sends it forward into Prompto’s face. It collides with a sickening slap, smacking Prompto down to the floor.

 

The stranger drags the blond back up by the wrists this time, clamping him against the wall. ‘You see, the thing is, you and I work in a very lucrative business. It has served you well all these years, has it not?’ He waits until a whimpering Prompto nods. ‘But if the prince were to find out, well, bye bye business. Then what do you plan on doing? Where would you go?

 

‘Were you hoping he’d save you? Your knight in shining armor to take you away from this squalor?’ The stranger grins, pausing, then he yanks away the fabric on one of Prompto’s arms, tearing off a long leather band. He throws it to the ground and it skims to a stop near Noctis’ feet. But the prince can’t look away.

 

The stranger crushes Prompto’s exposed arm against the wall, pressing the blond’s face around, forcing him to look at the black markings on his wrist. Noctis can only just make them out in the weak light. Prompto squeezes his eyes shut at the sight, pressing away from the stranger as he spits against the boy’s cheek. ‘What would the prince of Lucis want with a Niff mistake like you?’

 

When Prompto opens his eyes, he is crying. Noctis can see because the blond is looking right at him. Prompto is _looking right at him_.

 

Suddenly it’s not okay to just stand and watch. So maybe Noctis has never actually fought anything before. He’s been in training since he was seven years old. How different can it be?

 

His weapon materializes in a gleam of shattering sparks, moving in sync with his body as he leaps towards the stranger. He manages the catch the man by surprise, sending him tumbling to the ground, forcing him to drop Prompto. The momentum sends the three of them in a toppling heap, but Noctis maintains some level of control, just enough to yank Prompto by the arm back behind him.

 

The stranger takes a little more time to recover. He has rolled to the other side of the alley. However, as he stands he does so casually, making no signs of preparing to fight back. Noctis stands over Prompto, the boy still on the floor, weapon ready and eyes glaring. Distantly, he can hear the sounds of many footsteps rushing towards them, and the knowledge of coming aid reinvigorates the prince’s confidence.

 

Wiping a spot of dirt off his cheek, the man looks between Prompto and Noctis, considerate. When he speaks, he speaks to Prompto. ‘I wash my hands of this.’

 

And, just like that, he walks away into the shadows at the back of the alley, seeming unconcerned by the footsteps echoing towards them from that direction. Just before he disappears, he calls back, ‘I’ll be seeing you soon, Noctis.’ And then he is gone.

 

Noctis waits, battle ready, for a few more moments, the whole thing feeling too easy. But the next sign of movement from the shadows is Gladio, flanked by his supports, weapon ready, glancing between Noctis and the bleeding Prompto. ‘What the hell happened?’

 

Noctis doesn’t answer. Instead he falls to his knees beside Prompto, grabbing at his friend as though checking he is still all in one piece. His hands run frantically over Prompto’s skin, the cut by his eye, the thinness of his neck, the exposed paleness of his arm.

 

He freezes at the crack of Prompto’s voice. ‘Hey Noct.’

 

Noctis can’t bring himself to speak, can’t make a sound, can only just meet Prompto’s eyes, the broken attempt at a smile.

 

Ignis arrives from the other end of the alley, and Noctis looks to him instead. ‘Our new friend was having a few words with Prompto. I tried to sort him out.’

 

Ignis nods as though he can read the whole story in those few words. ‘We should probably make a move. There is no telling if he’ll be back any second.’

 

‘He won’t.’ All eyes turn to Prompto, most seeming surprised by his presence, their concern for the prince having overridden all else. ‘He’s done with this. With me. His cover’s blown. You won’t find him around here again. At least, not any time soon.’

 

No one really knows what to say to that for a second. Prompto glances up to Noctis’ eyes, shrugs, and looks back down.

 

‘Still,’ says Ignis, ‘We should at least get you cleaned up.’

 

Noctis stands, but Prompto appears to pay no mind. The prince extends a hand and lets it hover before the blond’s face. There is a pause, and then Prompto begins to lift his exposed arm, halts, considers his options, and then continues, taking Noctis’ hand. Noctis pulls the boy to his feet and the two stagger, stumbling into one another and pausing there for a warm moment, an island of something familiar in the chaos of the evening.

 

‘It was you, earlier, wasn’t it?’

 

Noctis nods.

 

‘I didn’t think you’d come for me.’

 

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ Noctis says, and then leads Prompto out of the alley by the hand.

 

*-*

 

Noctis rests his coat over Prompto’s shoulders. He watches as the blond snuggles into the fabric, pulling it close, hiding himself from view. The distant hum of the car engine starting did little to disrupt the tension between them.

 

During most of the drive, Prompto stares out of the window, lights of the city flickering into purples and blues over his cheeks, in his eyes.

 

When Noctis can take it no more, he says, ‘I’m sorry.’

 

If Prompto is surprised, he doesn’t show it, just stays still, eyes on the city lights. ‘What for?’

 

‘I… watched. I let him hurt you. I wanted answers, so I let him… I’m sorry.’

 

A huff, an almost laugh, and then, ‘it’s hardly your fault, Noct.’

 

‘So it’s true then?’

 

Silence.

 

‘Can I see?’

 

Noctis thinks Prompto isn’t going to let him until there is the lightest shifting of fabric and the blond is sliding his wrist out for Noctis’ study. With slow movements, the prince holds one hand underneath Prompto’s palm while the fingers of his other ghost over the raised ridges of a barred tattoo.

 

‘What is it?’

 

‘MT’s, they, um, they have these barcodes. So, yeah… I think, well, know, I’m from Niflheim.’

 

Noctis waits for him to continue, but Prompto doesn’t. ‘And that explains how you’re also a… drug dealer?’

 

‘No, not a dealer. Just a delivery boy.’

 

‘A delivery boy?’

 

Prompto shrugs. ‘I look innocent. Even managed to fool the prince of Lucis.’

 

Noctis is not amused by Prompto’s attempt at a joke. He can’t look at the blond’s cracked smile, so he looks down at the tattoo instead. ‘Where did… Where do the two come together,’ he asks, brushing fingers along the ridges of scarring.

 

‘I was too young to remember how I escaped. The only life I’ve ever known is this – black market deals, being careful to not cross the wrong people at the wrong time, constantly keeping moving, not to new homes but to new shelters, at the very least.’

 

‘That man, back there, did he help you escape?’

 

‘I… guess so? I don’t know. He’s in charge of a lot more than an Insomnia drug cartel, that much I know. Hell, before you came into my life, I’d never even met the guy. But… I knew of him, knew I owed everything to him.’ Prompto pauses and when Noctis glances up his gaze is caught because the blonde is looking now, and his smile is so broken. ‘He warned me to stay away from you, warned me of the danger I put his whole operation in by just saying hello. What choice did I have? Who could I turn to?’

 

Noctis can’t help himself. ‘Me.’

 

Prompto shakes his head. ‘I’ve been in far too deep for far too long to be as foolish as that. You care now, Noct. But you can’t seriously associate with a criminal. With one of the _enemy_.’

 

‘You are not the enemy,’ snaps Noctis, suddenly angry, hand wrapping around Prompto’s wrist so hard it almost hurts, ‘you are Prompto. I _know_ you.’

 

‘Do you though?’

 

‘Yes.’ And because it just seems right, like the most natural instinct in the world, Noctis raises his hand to Prompto’s cheek and turns his face towards him, pressing their lips together in a sudden but firm kiss, something that demands no arguments. ‘We’ve come this far; you’re not going anywhere now.’

 

With their foreheads pressed together, Prompto has no choice but to stare into Noctis’ eyes and see the determination that borders on fury. ‘But what will I do?’

 

‘Isn’t it obvious? You’re a survivor. You’re someone I trust. And, well, to make it this far in the places I have seen you living in, you certainly know how to handle yourself.’ Noctis has had daydreams of this, but he’s never had the strength to think of it too seriously. Now he can’t get the image out of his mind. ‘You’ll join my Crownsguard, of course.’

 

A burst of Prompto’s disbelieving laughter breaks through Noctis’ conviction. ‘Noct, you must be joking.’

 

‘Of course not.’

 

The shock on Prompto’s face falls into something softer as he realizes the seriousness of the prince’s expression, the certainty of his intentions. He leans away, allowing Noctis’ hands to fall, and cocoons himself further into Noctis’ coat. As though desperate for a distraction, his mind registers that it is very much Noct’s coat, and that it shouldn’t be. He glances down at the fabric as if to check, saying, ‘you went into my apartment.’

 

‘I would hardly call it an apartment,’ Noctis mutters before he can help himself, looking away and glaring toward the front of the car. After a moment hesitation, he continues, dragging a small something out of his pocket. ‘But, yes, I did. I was worried you wouldn’t go back there, after you thought you were followed, and I didn’t want you to lose your things.’

 

Prompto’s fingers shake as he takes the stack of photographs, holding his breath, full of hope but terrified of disappointment. Yet they are all here, every photograph he had been treasuring for months now. Torn and faded, all damaged in some way from their constant movement, but all valuable, and each a stab of pain in Prompto’s chest when he had thought earlier that night that they were lost. However, Noctis, yet again, saves the day.

 

Nocits is jolted out of his frustration by Prompto burying his face into the crook of his shoulder, arms wrapped around the prince. He cannot help but smile, just slightly, through the stress and pain and shock, as he returns the hug.

 

‘Thank you,’ Prompto whispers into the skin of his collarbone, ‘for everything.’

 

‘You should also probably know,’ Noctis says awkwardly, ‘that, uh, I told my dad about you.’

 

Prompto goes ridged, pulling away just enough to look Noctis in the eye, terrified.

 

‘So, he’s kind of expecting to meet you. And, well, you have to admit that, um, _future member of the royal guard_ sounds like a much better introduction than, y’know, _ex-drug dealer_.’

 

Prompto’s mouth, hanging open, twitches, continues to do so until he is smiling, and then he is laughing, and Noctis is laughing, and then they’re both in hysterics, clutching at one another and bending over with the pain of it in their stomach. So maybe it is the shock, or maybe the total, unexpected ridiculousness of where they now stand, but it is so much better than the palpable fear of rejection which had been radiating from Prompto and Noctis’ intensity in the wake of the night’s events.

 

When the two settle down, wiping at the tears welled in the corners of their eyes, all Prompto can giggle around his gasping breaths is, ‘ _delivery boy_.’

 

*~ ** _Epilogue_** ~*

 

Prompto turns one way in the mirror, watching the tail of his coat swing with the air. Then he turns the other, watching as it swings back. He stares at himself straight on, hands clutched to the lapels. He slips his hands into pockets then out of them. Rests both hands on his hips, then just the one. Pops the collar and winks at himself, jerking his chin up and smirking.

 

‘What in the name of the Astrals are you doing?’

 

Prompto drops all fronts, hands falling to his sides as he jerks around to where Noctis leans against the doorframe. He nibbles at his lip as he shrugs. ‘I got my uniform.’

 

‘I can see that,’ says Noctis, suppressing a laugh. The prince pushes away from his stand and walks leisurely over to Prompto, eyes appraising the fall of the outfit over his slim muscles, catching on the spot where the collar stops at skin.

 

‘Do you like it?’

 

‘Well, it’s certainly an improvement over that old ratty thing you’re always wearing.’

 

Prompto grunts a noise of indignation. ‘I’ll have you know that is a perfectly good coat.’

 

Noctis reaches the blond and presses his palms against his chest, thumbs stroking the coat’s lapels. ‘By which you mean, it was my coat.’

 

They both know Prompto goes silent because he can’t deny it.

 

‘No. This is much better.’ He begins to fiddle with the coat buttons, doing them up one by one. ‘It’s warm _and_ waterproof.’

 

‘Ah,’ Prompto holds up a finger, ‘but no chocobos though.’

 

Noctis grins and kisses his rain boy. ‘I’ll buy you a badge.’

 


End file.
